


bound by the surprise (of our glory days)

by iGoogle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Genderswap, Harry makes Mulan references, Smut, Strap-Ons, and Louis loves Viktor Krum, and cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:19:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iGoogle/pseuds/iGoogle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>
    <span>
      <span>Louis gently grabs Harry’s shoulders and pushes her down so she’s on her back, Louis straddling her waist. Harry’s eyes are closed, lips parted and waiting for Louis to- </span>
      <span>anything</span>
      <span>. It takes her a few seconds to open her eyes to realize Louis hasn’t moved from where she’s perched on top of her.</span>
    </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	bound by the surprise (of our glory days)

The first time Louis mentions it, Harry mostly stays quiet. More out of shock and embarrassment than anything, but Louis barely notices as it is.

“How d’you think it’d feel?” Louis absentmindedly picks at a piece of fried eel on the top of a white Christmas sushi roll, her blue eyes slightly wider than normal boring into Harry’s. As if it’s any other normal Friday night for them, though it’s slowly turning into anything _but_ for Harry.

“Erm, well,” Harry starts timidly - because that’s Harry; Harry is thoughtful and slow and shy, cute and soft and easy, where Louis is always sharp-tongued and fast witted and all brash confidence and out loud thoughts. Louis is always going, going, going, and never stopping. Harry is tall and slender with long chocolate curls and slim hips and a cute little swell of a bum, where Louis is short and curvy, and shoulder-length, pin straight caramel hair offset by bright blue eyes. They balance each other out in every way.

“I have no idea. Maybe, like. I suppose it’s probably really good, right?”

“ _Good?_ It’s got to be better than just plain old good. It’s probably fucking amazing!” Louis gestures widely with chopsticks in one hand.

Harry blushes, and not wanting Louis to notice, tucks her cheek into her shoulder, long sheet of curls covering her embarrassed and slightly intrigued expression.

Obviously, they’ve talked about things like this before. They’ve already reached getting each other off with tongues and fingers regularly, but it never ceases to amaze Harry how casually - and effortlessly, even - Louis can bring sex into almost any conversation. Even after all this time, Harry never does stop blushing or stuttering or making half-hearted excuses when Louis suddenly wants to go down on her when they’re somewhere especially daring, like the school toilets, or the one time in the locker room right after school, when _anybody_ could’ve walked in.

Harry knows - but will never, ever admit to it - that the rush of being caught is only part of the excitement, a heightening of the arousal. She’ll also never admit how much she can’t wait till Louis makes the first move, or how much of a turn on it is when Louis whispers dirty things into her ear. Things like these, Harry will never admit to in the light of day, but Louis knows just exactly how to get Harry flustered and blushing and so, so full of want she can barely stand it.

Louis probably knows, then, exactly how it makes Harry’s face heat and warmth bloom in the bottom of her stomach when she leans in before leaving and whispers, “Come on, I _know_ you’ve thought of it before.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, either, winking and leaving Harry at the door with weak knees.

The hottest part is that, yeah, Harry really, really has.

\---

It feels like a long, long time till Louis ever brings it up again. So long it has Harry wondering whether she ever really meant anything by it, or whether it was to be left as just that- a harmless, passing comment. As it is, the second time Louis brings it up is so wholly unexpected it has Harry wet in her panties in the middle of a school day, biting her lip and rocking her hips up against her hand quietly in the girl’s toilet. It’s embarrassing, really, how much just the thought of it goes straight to her groin.

“It’s just stupid,” Louis says huffing, cheeks red. It is gym class and they’re out on the track field, running the mile. Despite Louis’ flat stomach, toned arms, and perfectly round arse that routinely make Harry a healthy combination of jealous and so proud of her girlfriend, she’s never been one for running. “There are lots of other ways to get in just as good an exercise.”  She throws a quick side-wink at Harry- and really, this is, like, becoming a thing.

Honestly, the comment could be passed off as innocent if it weren’t for the knowing, lazy smirk on her face that Harry has come to love over time. Well- she usually loves it, but it’s hard to be anything other than annoyed as she trips over her own feet, distracted. Harry falls flat on her face and stomach, arms and palms spread out to catch herself. _Fuck Louis and her stupid teasing_ , Harry thinks. It isn’t even _cute_.

Louis kneels down and puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder in the guise of helping her up, as the rest of their class run around and pass them. Instead of taking Harry’s hand, she ducks down quickly, lips brushing the outer shell of Harry’s ear, breath fanning over the side of her face. Harry maintains that the quickening of her breath is due only to running, and nothing else.

“It could be like this,” Louis whispers, and Harry suddenly feels the sharp press of Louis’ pelvic bone press tight against her bum, and then she pulls away much, much too quickly. Harry involuntarily lets out a low whine from the back of her throat. She can feel, rather than hear, the soft vibrations of Louis laughing, as she tightens her hold on Harry’s shoulder, and to her confusion, instead of pulling Harry up, she gently tugs her over till her back is flat on the floor, hands held in tight fists on either side of her heaving chest, and pupils so blown out the green barely shows.

Louis quickly, quickly, much too fast presses her breasts down tight against Harry’s more ample bosom. Harry feels a hot twist deep in her stomach, and gasps, eyes flying shut, when she feels two small fingers, _not nearly enough_ , pressing tight between her legs. “But,” Louis drags her teeth over Harry’s soft cheek. “I think I’d much rather it was like this.” And Harry doesn’t even have to ask what she means, because _fuck_ if she hasn’t been thinking about it late at night, ever since Louis first brought it up. All too sudden, Louis clambers up, grabbing Harry’s hand and pulling her up to her shaky feet.

“Somebody could’ve seen!” Harry squawks indignantly, fixing her hair and knowing it’s a sorry excuse; there’s barely any heat in her voice. Louis just fondly rolls her eyes.

“Come on, race you to the finish line!” Louis jets off, short, mousy ponytail bobbing behind her.

Harry sighs, trying as inconspicuously as possible to adjust her running shorts, and runs after her.

\---

There are a few (million) other times Harry can clearly remember when Louis brings it up. Many of them, she’d point out, weren’t quite as arousing or nearly as smooth as the first two.

For instance, when Louis had traced out a big penis (with surprising detail for someone who could barely draw a stick figure and wasn’t at all interested in penises) through her gravy when she was over for Sunday roast one night, making rude hand gestures at Harry from behind her mum’s back. Not smooth at all, when Anne had turned around and caught her. Louis had the sense to volunteer to wash dishes that night as a sort of peace offering.

Or the other time at school when they were eating lunch, and Niall was talking about the _straps on her new trainers_ , Louis somehow managed to turn _that_ into a rude comment in Harry’s direction, too (Niall wasn’t meant to hear, but, Louis’ never been particularly shy), which earned them a pointed glare and an exasperated but fond _“get a room, you two.”_

If Harry found Louis’ childishness slightly endearing, she never let on. That was never the problem, though, because- though Harry’d never admit to it- she’s all up for the teasing, the giving of only-a-little-but-not-enough.

 _That_ was never the problem.

\---

Harry isn’t avoiding Louis, really. It’s more of a stealth technique, actually. In the pure interest of honing her ninja skills, Harry up and leaves the bed before Louis has the chance to stir awake after one of their weekend sleepovers. She even makes breakfast, too. Not avoiding. Not even a tiny bit.

Harry is very aggressively _not_ avoiding Louis.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Harry chokes on air where she’s standing at the stove, melting butter in a pan for their bacon and eggs. Louis, bless her, grabs a glass from the cabinet, having all but lived in Harry’s house long enough to be considered family, and fills it with cold water from the tap. She hands it wordlessly to Harry, who’s still lightly coughing.

“You’re a dork,” Louis says as she straddles a kitchen chair backwards, resting her chin on the backrest, watching Harry from behind. It comes out a lot more fond than that statement really should.

Harry’s being stupid, she knows this, and she knows Louis knows this and she also knows Louis knows that Harry knows that Louis knows this. Louis also knows, as does Harry, why the younger girl takes entirely way too long to finish a simple glass of water.

Harry clears her throat after setting the glass down, turning her attention to the pan in front of her. “Good morning to you too, then.”

“Harry,” Louis sighs, and Harry knows it’s her _Harry-cut-the-bullshit-sigh_. Harry knows a lot of things, lately. “Haz, what’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Harry goes to the fridge instead of answering, mindlessly grabbing the pack of bacon and salt off the counter. She won’t turn around, she can’t because she knows this tone, too. She knows exactly what she’ll see if she turns around, and Harry doesn’t want to see that, because, really, it’s unfair. _She_ should be the one who’s using her _Louis-cut-the-bullshit-sigh_ , if she had one, and _she_ should be the one who’s acting like she has no idea what’s going on. Because _she’s_ the one who’s going to be- no. Mustn't think of things like that, not with Louis right there, too close and-

“Harry. Oi, Harry- what are you doing?”

“Oh!” Harry comes back to the present, where the bacon strips are sizzling in their fat only they’re inexplicably covered in a thin, dark sauce and Harry sees a bottle in her hand that is most definitely _not_ salt . She coughs.

“It’s a- uhh. It’s a new recipe?” The fact that it comes out as a question isn’t helping Harry at all. She puts down the vial of Worcestershire and covers her eyes with one hand, as though maybe that could help her actually disappear and be anywhere other than right here, in the now.

“Harry,” she hears another sigh, only it’s right next to her this time, only it’s more of a soft _Harry-please-tell-me-what’s-wrong-sigh._ “Harry, come on. Can we do this in your room?” Because Louis knows, Louis always knows, that Harry is going to talk to her, and will always eventually talk to her, and can’t ever _not_ talk to her. Harry knows, too.

Harry nods and shuts off the stove, and they could do it right here, in the kitchen, because nobody in Harry’s house wakes up before noon on a Saturday anyway, except for Harry- but Harry doesn’t want it to be right here, Harry doesn’t want Louis to- no. There’s that thought again, which should really go away.

But it doesn’t, even as Harry finds herself sitting cross-legged across from Louis on her bed, knees and the tips of their toes touching, and that’s nowhere near enough, but Harry doesn’t know how to ask for more, not now.

“Harry,” Louis says her name for the millionth time this morning, only now it’s cautiously, and her eyebrows are drawn in worry and she’s taking Harry’s hands in her own and Harry _can’t_ because this is exactly what Louis would be doing if she- no. Just, no. “Harry, you- you do know I’m _always_ here for you, right?” And this is bad, because Louis sounds serious, and Louis doesn’t often do serious, not really.

Harry’s heart is beating much too fast, and her thoughts moving much too slow, and there’s a slight burn behind her eyes and no, this can’t be happening. She opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “Are you- Louis. Lou, are you finishing with me?”

If there’s one thing Harry doesn’t expect, it’s the progression of emotions on Louis’ face. Her eyes widen almost comically and her eyebrows draw together in one line; startled, dumbfounded, confused, a tad sad, and the one Harry’s least expecting of all, is really, really angry.

“What? I. Hazza, _what_?”

Harry doesn’t answer, instead, her shoulders drop and she closes her eyes tight.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, because Louis needs to know, and Harry can’t be selfish. “I mean- I won’t be, but I, like, want you to- just. If that’s what you-”

“Haz, babe. _Haz, stop_. Just- no, never. Where’s this even coming from? I don’t- what could possibly, ever, ever make you think that?”

Harry has tears running down her cheeks softly in earnest relief now with her face turned down. She looks up, opening her mouth to say something, she’s been so stupid but then there’s Louis right there not more than an inch away, their faces aligned and she can feel her breath on her face. Whatever Harry planned on saying is completely lost when Louis lunges forward, encompassing Harry in a tight, desperate hug that Harry correctly determines to mean _Harry-I’ll-never-let-go_ , and she hugs back like Louis’ the only thing keeping her grounded to Earth, gravity be damned because for all Harry cares, Louis _is_ her gravity.

“I’m sorry,” Harry hiccups through her tears. “Stupid,” she whispers, and she hopes Louis can hear all the other words she doesn’t know how to say yet, too.

Of course, though, Louis knows, because she just holds on tighter and inches them back so Louis’ back is propped up on the pillows against the headboard with Harry between her legs and her back propped up on Louis. Louis’ arms inch around either side of her, hands linking together with Harry’s and Harry feels so, so warm now, like she could fly, possibly.

“I love you, Haz. You _know_ that,” Louis starts slowly after a while spent in silence. And Harry _does_ know it’s just-

“I do know, Lou. I _do_. And I love you, _so much._ It’s just- I dunno. It’s just,” Harry takes a deep breath, and Louis waits patiently, nuzzling her nose into the back of Harry’s neck. “It’s like- you always _talk_ about it? But- then, then you, like, never actually _do_ it. Or, say it. Or- like, it makes me think, like, you don’t really want to? At least with me, or something. And I don’t want to _ask_ , I don’t- it’s- _you’re_ the one who brings it up, and-”

Harry feels Louis shaking behind her and- “This isn’t _funny_ , Louis!” She pulls up out of Louis’ hold to turn around and crosses her arms.

Louis’ face is the picture of innocent. “No, I- no. I wasn’t laughing _at_ you, babe. Just- I don’t,” Louis chuckles, “I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

Harry blushes to the tips of her hair and focuses her eyes on a corner of the duvet. “I,” she croaks, and clears her throat, “I mean- you know. That- the thing. The _Thing_ , you’re always talking about it, Lou, come on, don’t be thick.”

Harry gives Louis a meaningful look and says quietly, “The- _you know_ , That, Lou!”

Louis looks bewildered for all of five seconds before it dawns on her. “Harry- you couldn’t. You can’t possibly think I’d- because of That?”

Harry’s head ducks and she plays with the edge of her shirt. She shrugs weakly.

“Harry,” Louis says, exasperated. “Harry, there’s absolutely nothing- and I mean, _nothing_ like that, that I’d ever break up with you for. Ever,” she finishes forcefully. “Look at me, please.” Harry complies, looking up through her eyelashes.

“I don’t- the only reason I haven’t- or we, I guess, it’s not. God, it’s not whatever you’re thinking, Haz. It’s just, I want you to be sure, you have to be sure. And- I want it to be special.”

If Harry was blushing earlier, then she’s absolutely on fire now.

“I- I _do_ want it, though! I _am_ sure!”

She sounds embarrassingly eager, but Louis must be daft to not see that Harry doesn’t want anything as much as she wants That, or just _anything_ with Louis, honestly. But of course, as always, Louis does know, because she almost always knows what Harry wants and what Harry needs, and Harry thinks she might, just possibly, be the luckiest girl ever.

Louis leans forward and rubs her nose against Harry’s in a soft eskimo kiss, “Then it’ll happen. Don’t worry about it anymore, okay? It’s going to be fine, and it’s going to be good.”

And for the first time in maybe a week or so, Harry’s laugh bubbles up in the way she knows Louis loves to hear and see and has missed in the past few days. Everything is good, and it’s going to be good and perfect and Harry is so happy, and how could she honestly have worried Louis would have ever left her?

With their noses still touching, she tilts her face up so their lips slot together. She bites Louis' bottom lip lightly. “Missed you,” she breathes, and she feels it all acutely in that moment - a week, that felt like a year.

Louis smiles widely and doesn’t answer, chasing Harry’s lips back with her own and once they’re connected there is nothing soft or gentle about it, clear intent behind the desperate movements.

Louis’ hand snakes up to tug Harry’s hair and she licks into her mouth hotly. They’re both up on their knees, bodies pressed together tightly and hands groping everywhere, trying to touch as much skin as possible all at once because it’s early in the morning and there’s family home and this has to be quick, quick.

Louis gently grabs Harry’s shoulders and pushes her down so she’s on her back, Louis straddling her waist. Harry’s eyes are closed, lips parted and waiting for Louis to- _anything_. It takes her a few seconds to open her eyes to realize Louis hasn’t moved from where she’s perched on top of her.

The look in Louis’ eyes makes her mouth go dry and her heart beat faster and palms clammy with nerves and _fuck_ , it looks like she wants to _devour_ Harry and Harry can’t fucking wait.

“ _Lou_ ,” an embarrassing whine makes it past her throat, and she makes grabby hands at Louis’ arms, tugging her down on top of her with a small _oof._ Louis doesn’t waste a second, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s lips and moving her attention to the skin that’s so conveniently made accessible by the low scoop neck top Harry is wearing. Harry’s thoughts are simultaneously going too fast and too slow, a muddled jumble that’s mostly _LouisLouisLouis_ , all her focus on each spot of skin Louis leaves hot open-mouthed kisses on. She isn’t capable of processing time now, and at some point Louis begins biting softly, sucking and licking over the soft, soft delicate skin of Harry’s collarbones, and she’s pushing her head back to expose her neck subconsciously chanting _moremoremore_. Harry’s hand floats down over Louis’ back, playing with the edge of her t-shirt, tickling the soft skin under.

“Off,” she says breathlessly, not particularly caring how her voice gives away how much she wants this, because a week may as well have been forever for HarryandLouis, who are normally so handsy. “ _Off, Louis_ , take it- off,” she tugs the hem off the shirt up to Louis’ shoulders, slipping her arms and neck through, discarding it behind her, and- _fuck_. Harry feels a sharp shot of arousal shoot through her and she bites into her bottom lip as Louis sits up again on top of her, caramel hair falling wildly, framing her bare shoulders and face, her eyes wide with the pupils blown out and her mouth parted. Her breath comes in pants, chest falling and rising, and how the hell had Harry not realized she wasn’t wearing a bra under her shirt?

Harry wants to touch, touch, touch and her hands reach out to do just that but apparently Louis has other plans, leaning back as she catches Harry’s hand in her own.

“No, not yet. Not your turn, yet,” Louis breathes close to Harry’s face and she pins both Harry’s hands with one of her own above her head to the mattress tightly.

Harry’s mouth is open, ready to make a remark about how _this isn’t some fucking board game, or something_ , but what comes out is a gasp as she feels Louis’ other hand rucking up her shirt and feeling under, ghosting lightly, tickling the sensitive skin of her tummy till she drags a line with her thumb where her bra ends.

“Harry- Harry, babe. You’ll have to be quiet, alright? Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

She nods frantically and arches her chest up into Louis’ hand at the same time. Louis giggles.

“Always so eager, babe.” Louis pulls her hand out from under Harry’s shirt and eases it off of her, throwing it on the floor. With one hand still pinning both of Harry’s, the index finger of her other hand teases feather light at the top of Harry’s bra.

Harry makes a low whine in her throat, “ _Don’t_ be a tease, Lou.”

Louis _shh’s_ and pecks a quick kiss to her lips, quickly pulling down both cups of the bra under Harry’s breasts, pushing them up obscenely. Her hand brushes over one, pointedly avoiding the nipple. “ _Fuck_ , Haz.” Louis leans her face down between and nuzzles in between them, “Love your tits, babe. So fucking pretty.”

Harry opens her mouth to laugh, getting cut off short when Louis turns her head a little and she bites into the soft flesh. Harry’s hips roll up on reflex and she lets out a quiet moan. “ _Lou._ ”

Louis whispers into her skin _got you babe, shh, quiet, I got you_. She lets go of Harry’s hands, putting them under her head. “Don’t move them.”

Harry’s eyes flutter closed as Louis takes one of her tits in each hand and squeezes lightly, muttering a low _fuck_ , and usually this is where Harry will laugh or make fun of Louis and her obsession with Harry’s boobs, but there’s nothing funny about the way Louis’ thumbs are passing over her nipples again and again till she can feel the soft pink beads getting harder and longer and _fuck_ they feels _so tight_.

Harry stifles her moans into her elbow and her hands fist in her own hair. Without warning, Louis takes a nipple into her mouth, sucking harshly and Harry lets out an embarrassingly loud moan, back arching to push further into Louis’ mouth. Quickly, Louis puts a hand a hand over Harry’s mouth and looks to the door of the room, listening for a sign that someone’s heard. Nothing.

“Fuck, Haz. Quiet! Your mum, babe, she’s in the _next room_.”

Harry nods, “Sorry. Sorry- please. Lou, come on, I’ll be good.” Louis leans back over her, hot breath against her nipples. Harry’s waiting for Louis to take her back in her mouth, and a muffled squeak makes it past her clenched teeth when she feels Louis’ teeth sink into her instead. _Quiet_ , Louis breathes, flicking one nipple over and over with her tongue and teasing the other with her thumb and index finger.

It’s dizzying and hot and so much all at once and Harry feels as though she might burst, her nipples have always been so damn sensitive and all she wants is _more_ and she feels so close, hips bucking up into nothing and back arching up as far as she can go, almost shoving herself into Louis’ face. She’s _so_ fucking close, just from this. “ _Lou_ ,” she breathes, “‘m gonna-”

Louis stops working her tongue immediately, and gives her nipple a last brush with her thumb and quickly moves off of Harry.

“Not yet, babe. C’mon, doing so good, so beautiful, baby. Not yet,” she says moving off of her waist, and quickly pulls Harry’s pyjama bottoms over her bent knees and curled toes, discarding them as well. Harry’s eyes are closed and she whines.

“ _Lou-_ ”

 _Shhh, babe, c’mon, quiet for me sweetheart,_ Louis’ thumb brushes over Harry’s panties, pressing lightly on the damp spot staining the middle of the baby pink cotton cloth. “Fuck Haz,” Louis says reverently. “You’re already so wet for me. Always so good for me.”

Harry whimpers and her legs spread out further, clasping her hands to her knees. She feels two of Louis’ fingers slide her panties to the side and she gasps at the feeling of the cold air. She moans when she feels the pad of Louis’ spit-slicked thumb move against her, rubbing lazy circles around her clit and her hips buck up messily again and again for more friction, always more. Louis’ middle finger presses gently at her entrance, her thumb moving faster as she pushes further into her slowly.

“That’s it, babe. Come for me, Haz. Be a good girl for and come for me,” Louis coos, and crooks the finger inside of her just like _that_.

If Anne ever wonders about the mess of bacon in the kitchen, she never mentions it when both girls rush down with barely subdued giggles and pink cheeks.

\---

Harry feels light on her feet and tipsy from just one glass of champagne. Louis leans forward to kiss her again, and she’s pretty sure there’s still frosting on one of their mouths but neither of them can be arsed to care. Standing at the front door, she can hear music from somewhere in the kitchen and the sound of dishes being washed where Anne, Robin and Gemma are cleaning up.

“Tomorrow,” Louis says, breathless. “Tomorrow at eight, yeah?”

Harry rolls her eyes and smiles. “Dunno..might change my mind. Might wanna meet up with some friends instead. I’ll call you and let you know?”

Harry gets a light shove to the shoulder for her cheek. “Tomorrow,” Louis says again. “I’ll be here at eight, don’t make me wait.”

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“I- what?”

“It rhymed,” Harry smiles widely. “Eight, wait.”

Louis groans, shoves Harry again. "Keep that up, and you'll _need_ to make plans with someone else. You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

"Yeah?" Louis pretends to think about it, Harry pouts. "Nah," Louis smiles. "I love _you_ , though. I'll take what I can get."

Harry leans forward smiling dopily, looping her arms around Louis' neck. Louis' hands make their way around her waist, second nature. "Love you, too. Love you so much."

"I want to throw up kittens, you two are disgusting." Gemma states eloquently and throws a dishcloth at Harry's back. "I'm going upstairs now. Goodbye and goodnight, Louis!"

Gemma leaves, and Louis finally zips her coat up, taking out her car keys. She hugs Harry one last time, tightly, and whispers in her ear. "I left it under your bed. Just- y’know.  Let you see it a little before, if you want. Happy seventeenth, babe."

Harry blushes - her mum and stepdad are fucking _right there_ \- and gives her a quick chaste kiss, letting her out. Harry doesn't go up to her room for a couple more hours.

It isn’t like she's avoiding anything, per se. It’s just, well, someone has to clean up. There’s all the confetti on the floor and _somebody_ has got to clean out the litter, change that cat’s water and walk about the house aimlessly till they’re sent to their room. Harry volunteers as tribute. _Ha._

Harry walks into her room and to her horror finds Gemma looking around. _Shit shit shit_.

“Hey, Hazza. Can’t find your charger, I need it,” Gemma says quickly, holding her phone out. If Harry didn’t know better, she’d say Gemma looked absolutely normal. As it is, Harry does know better.

“What’d you see, Gems?” Harry’s blushing madly, arms crossed.

“What? I don’t know what you’re on a-”

“Did you see anything? Gemma!” Harry whines petulantly when she can see an answer all over her face. Gemma cackles.

“I didn’t open anything,” she says. “But I saw enough to be sure to have a few words with Lou next time she’s over, hm? Can’t wait!” Gemma smiles widely, grabs Harry’s phone charger off the bed and leaves with a quick kiss on the cheek. _Fuck nosy older sisters_ , Harry thinks. _Fuck girlfriends who can’t actually hide things_ , she thinks next when she sees a shiny lime green gift bag next to her bed. (Very much not under it at all).

She sits on her bed for a full minute before grabbing the bag, checking her phone first and finding a text from Louis.

**Lemme know what u thinkkkk (hope u like the color hehe) xxx**

And _oh God_ , Harry hopes Louis hasn’t put anything too fucking weird in the bag as a joke. She sighs and puts her phone down, pulling the bag up into her lap. Moment of truth, and to be honest, she couldn’t be more thankful Louis had given her the stuff first. It’s a testament to how well Louis knows her, and it really sort of makes Harry fuzzy on the inside, kitten-vomit inducing as it may be.

Looking in the bag, there’s a medium sized cardboard box and a small hot pink card on top proclaiming “Happy Fucking Birthday!” on the front with a bunch of flying cats and, yeah, that looks a lot like something Louis would get her. She flips the card over, slowly reading over Louis’ chicken scratches she calls penmanship.

_Dear loveliest Hazza,_

_Enjoy (but not too much without me, yeah?) Try not to get too hot and bothered._

_p.s. love you so much, can’t wait to see you tomorrow/today!_

_yours,_

_Boobear xxxxxx_

Harry groans, and then she laughs. Louis has that effect on her. She steels herself and grabs the box, ripping off the taping. The box is unmarked and has no labels, which probably means Louis took time to repackage everything- which, _fuzzy._

Harry blushes when she sees faux-leather straps first. She grabs one, pulling out something that  somewhat resembles a thong, one black strap looks as though it would be where one’s hips go, two smaller adjustable straps for the thighs and a hole in the front for... _oh_. Harry sees a bright orange dildo that’s relatively thin and looks to be about five or six inches long. She laughs out loud, covering her mouth and grabbing her phone.

**I’m pretty sure I said neon orange *beanie* Lou**

And then, because that seems harsh:

**love you xxx**

She places the dildo and strap-on back into the box, and sees a small green tube; _durex play: passion fruit, deliciously fruity flavoured intimate lube._

Oh, god.

\---

It is enough of an answer, and doesn’t really need to be said aloud just yet, when Harry puts a slightly bulging overnight bag in the backseat of Louis’ car before climbing in.

\---

“Ethaaaan!” Harry laughs breathlessly and spreads her arms out, wind flapping Louis’ jacket on her shoulders like wings. “I’m flying.”

“Pretty sure that’s the wrong movie, babe,” Louis says, deadpan.

“Piss off, I’m tapping into my inner romantic!”

Louis slaps her arse playfully, and Harry runs off to the car.

“For the record,” Louis says after cranking the heater up one dial. “Kate Winslet ain’t got nothin' on you.”

“Kate Winslet is _pretty_ ,” Harry argues.

“That may be true,” Louis says. “But you, young Harriet, are fucking sexy.”

Harry blushes and opens her mouth to protest at the use of a name that, _for the fiftieth time Lou,_ isn’t hers and makes her sound like a ratty sixty year old cat lady. “My _name_ \- hey. Wrong turn.”

“We’re not- er. We’re not going to mine tonight?”

Harry looks over, her expression questioning.

“Oh, uh. No? Not really?”

Harry’s eyebrows raise. “So where are we going?”

“Uh, well. You don’t actually know this about me but I’m super rich from cashier summer jobs and don’t know what else to do with my money. So I happened to get a hotel room. It’s actually a few minutes away. But- uh. It’s just, yknow. It’s whatever.”

Harry feels a blush heat up her face and she can’t stop the stupid smile on her face even as she turns to look out the window to hide it. “You’re ridiculous,” she scoffs. It comes out a lot more fond than originally planned. “And you’re _so_ not rich.”

“Only for you, I am.”

It's a joke, it _is_ , but it's ridiculously, stupidly, blatantly true and just painfully obvious how very gone Louis is for Harry. The thought spreads out like warm honey through Harry's blood.

Louis is quiet, then, a beat later:

“Viktor, I love you!”

“Shut up, Lou.”

“Viktor I dooo! When we’re apaaaart-”

Harry might’ve joined in for the last line. Nobody can prove a thing.

\---

Louis is ridiculous. Louis is utterly, stupidly ridiculous, Harry decides when she sees the bed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Without waiting for a reply and reacting the only way she knows how when faced with even the prospect of awkwardness, Harry drops the bag on the floor and runs towards the bed covered in red rose petals, catapulting herself in midst of the pillows against the headboard. The petals flutter softly, the original heart shape they’d been placed into lays disarrayed.

Harry stays still on the bed, eyes stuck up on the ceiling. It feels almost surreal being here, nothing like Harry’s imagined it would because it’s so _here_ and _now_ and it’s so much, but it also feels good.

“I love you,” she tells the ceiling seriously. “Louis. Lou, I-”

“ _Stop_ ,” Louis says softly, climbing on the bed next to her. “Don’t get all teary on me,” she whispers into the soft cloth of Harry’s jumper, “I love you, too. For what it's worth.”

“Everything,” Harry answers immediately, and then she pouts, crossing her arms. “And I was _not_ going to cry.”

Louis fingers play at the edge of her jumper, tickling the soft skin. “Yeah, you were.”

“Was not,” Harry insists petulantly.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.”

“I,” Harry sniffs, “am not _cute when I am angry_. I am- I’m as swift as a coursing river, I am.” Louis’ finger reaches higher, playing around her belly button, and Harry can feel her breath coming faster. Louis snorts, her fingers tickling Harry’s ribs now.

Harry huffs out a breathless laugh at the feel of Louis’ fingers. Louis slowly drags her hand from one side of Harry’s ribs, over the slight dip in the middle and to the other side. One finger plays with the underwire of Harry’s bra.

“I haven’t,” Harry says. “I want-”

Louis’ hand stills and she sits up. “Yeah? What do you want, love?”

Harry’s blush blooms and she sits up, fiddling idly with a rose petal. She closes her eyes and heaves a breath in, counts to three. “Well, we should talk, right? That’s what we’re supposed to do. Yeah, talk. Talking is good.”

“Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

“Um, stuff. Like, moon phases and things.”

“Or sex?”

“Or that,” Harry says, blushing. “It’s all good with me.”

Louis laughs and falls on her back onto the bed. “Moon phases? You’re something else.”

"I want you," Harry says, feeling emboldened with Louis’ eyes trained on the ceiling, "to sit on me."

“What?”

“I want you to sit on my face, Louis.”

"Um. Sit? Like- oh. Oh you- _oh. Oh._ "

Harry coughs.

"If it's alright? Like, please."

Louis' laugh is short and it sounds like fondness and disbelief. She flicks her fringe with a finger where it's landing in her eye. "Yeah, I think I can deal with that."

\---

“Are you ready to party?” Louis says loudly, coming out of the bathroom in her panties and a tshirt.

“You’re wearing a big tshirt with a cat on it.” Harry says, deadpan.

“Um,” Louis says, and she snaps her fingers. “Cats are the new _black,_ Hazza. Cats are sexy as fuck.”

“No,” Harry giggles, “I can’t take you seriously when there’s a cat wearing a sombrero on your shirt. I can’t do it.”

Louis stares at Harry and crosses her arms at the hem of her shirt.

“Okay.”

Louis pulls her shirt over her head in one swift motion.

“Better now?”

Harry swallows. “It’ll have to do, I suppose”

Louis launches herself onto the bed, hands out at the ready to tickle Harry.

“No! No, stop,” Harry shrieks, curling up into a ball. “I surrender!” She throws her arms up in mock defeat.

“White flag?” Louis says, her chin held up by her hand.

“White flag,” Harry agrees. “Now we have to kiss to seal the deal.”

“Horny, horny, horny,” Louis tsks, and leans down over Harry.

\---

It's when Louis' hands move around her back and unsnap her bra that the haze clears long enough for her to remember. "Lou," she says, "come on." She grabs at the backs of Louis' thighs and hoists her up. Louis hesitates.

"Hey," Harry's hands still, "I don't. Like- you don't have to." Harry feels stupid, stupid, and she really should've asked before, been more considerate and thoughtful and it's not like-

Louis leans down and kisses her, and it shouldn’t be all that great, Harry supposes, and their teeth clack from the position. But it's with Louis, and that's kind of the whole point, is that it's LouisandHarry and it's wonderful solely for that reason.

"You sure?" Louis' eyes are warm and her breath is already coming in pants. It's more than enough of an answer when Harry grabs another pillow and puts it under her head to support her neck, and squeezes Louis' arse gently. Nice arse, Louis'.

"Okay," Louis says slowly when her knees are bracketing Harry's neck and she looks down at her. "Okay, should I-" she runs a thumb along the elastic of her panties.

"No. No- keep them, please." Harry's face is bright red and _fuckfuckfuckingfuck_ this is actually, really happening, as in, in real life, and not late at night when Harry can't sleep and she's got her own hand in her panties and- _fuck_. _Okay_ , Louis says again, scooting up her knees, the warmth between her legs heating Harry's face and she holds onto the headboard tightly with both hands. And, _Okay, whenever you're-_

Louis' sentence is swallowed into a gasp as Harry pokes her tongue out and traces against the thin lace lining the crook of Louis' thigh. The skin is soft, silky soft and delicate and almost, sweet but faintly salty or musky and it all comes together; it’s _Louis._ Harry could trace her tongue in circles here all day, Louis above her panting and biting her lip, rigid trying to keep her hips still. Yeah, Harry quite likes this.

She pushes her neck up and latches her mouth to the inside of Louis' thigh, sucking harshly and Louis' hips roll involuntarily, damp spot on the front of her panties making contact with Harry's forehead and it's messy and a tad awkward, stumbling through new territory, and Harry loves all of it.

"Sorry," Louis whispers above her, and Harry's hands reach up to grab at Louis' hips, holding her tightly. Carefully, she reaches up and bares her teeth, bunching the panties to one side, Louis gasps and the sound is cut off in the middle, like she’s bitten into her arm to keep quiet.

Harry leans her head back down quickly. “No, Lou,” she says quietly, squeezing the hand over her hipbone. “Wanna hear you, please.”

It isn’t long, barely three or four minutes at the most, first with Harry running the very tip of her tongue teasingly light, and then broad, sloppy strokes right around Louis’ clit, sucking harsh lovebites into the insides of her thighs and Louis’ small moans are like part a record that's stuck on replay and Harry thinks this is probably her favourite song now. Or maybe that doesn’t even make any real sense, Harry doesn’t really know, her whole mind occupied with the way Louis’ stomach muscles jump and clench and the soft little noises she’s making.

It gets a little harder to hold Louis’ hips still and her hips are rocking in small consistent circles over Harry, all but grinding on her tongue and she can feel precome all around her lips, in her mouth, the tip of her nose is wet and Harry doesn’t think twice about the fact that she just loves it, can feel her own clit pulsing, nipples hardening and she hasn’t even been touched, yet.

Louis gasps and her small thrusts get sloppy, she turns her face from where it’s rested on the headboard, and looks down into Harry’s eyes. “Har- please. I’m gonna-”

And that’s all Harry needs, and she gives a flat, spit-slicked lick of her tongue around the clit, then, quickly, pouting her lips and pursing a small kiss-suck _right_ on her clit. Louis’ hips thrust one last time as she comes gasping Harry’s name, and her thighs go rigid, shaking next to Harry’s ears, curled toes digging into her side.

To Louis’ credit, she grabs a tissue and slowly, meticulously, cleans off Harry’s face, _then_ she collapses on top of her, all liquid bones for a few minutes and a sort of blissed out daze.

\---

The cup of tea Harry makes for Louis turns out to be unnecessary, because they’re _young and healthy, Haz, not old women with dying libidos_ , and before Harry knows it, the tea’s cold on the bedside table, Louis’ trying to put the strap-on together between kisses and Harry’s sitting on the bed in just her panties, feeling so turned on she feels like she might come just from watching Louis holding a dildo.

“Voila!” Louis climbs on the bed, up on her knees in front of Harry, and she spreads her arms out wide. She places her hands on her hips and strikes a pose. “What do you think, young Harriet?”

Louis’ joking, this is Harry’s cue to probably make some cheeky comment, something about Louis’ arse or just anything, _fuck_ , but she can’t, not really. Not with Louis right in front her, _orange_ dildo between her legs, held in her hand loosely. It turns out Louis doesn’t need an answer when she sees Harry’s face. For as quiet as she’ll keep when Harry’s getting her off, Harry loves it when Louis talks to her, sometimes softly telling her what to do or how well she’s doing.

“Do y’like it, love?” Louis' voice is low and soft and she pushing her hips out more, tip of the dildo not far from Harry’s face. “Like how that looks, yeah?”

Harry’s eyelids droop, and _fuck, yes_ , she loves how it looks on Louis and wants to ingrain this image into the backs of her eyelids, for fuck’s sake. She bites her lip, and her hips rock back and to the side, trying to gain some friction.

She doesn’t say anything, just keeps her eyes trained straight onto Louis, looking back from the strap-on to her eyes, and a small whimper makes it passed her closed lips.

Louis head tilts to one side, following the movement of Harry’s hips and looking back up at her eyes. She reaches up a hand and brushes one side of her hair behind her ear, keeping her eyes on Harry. “Do you?” Louis presses softly, adjusting her knees on the mattress, dildo waving a little in the air.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, and her voice feels rough, like she hasn’t talked for ages, and she kinds of just wants Louis to _fuck_ her already, she wants it so much she’s almost forgetting to be nervous at all because that’s longer than anything they’ve ever tried. “Love it, Lou. Like it a lot.”

The blues of Louis’ eyes quite literally don’t show, a combination of the low lighting and arousal. Louis takes the base of the dildo in one hand, pointing it straight at Harry, like an offering, and what-

“Wanna give it a kiss?” For the first time, there’s hesitance on Louis’ face, and it shows in her voice. For all that they’ve talked about this, strap-ons, they haven’t talked so much as what it would actually be like. There aren’t any real lines drawn here, yet, and it’s all new territory.

Harry feels heady at the suggestion. She looks up into Louis’ eyes and her hands come up to grip at Louis’ hipbones. She leans forward, licks her lips, Louis’ eyes tracking the movement, and gives the silicone cock a small kiss, right on the tip.

It’s like the moment is suspended in air when Harry pulls back and neither of their eyes have wavered off the other. It feels like there is no world beyond this, nothing beyond this dark room with Louis naked in front of her and their low voices and half-stumbling movements the only sounds to be heard for miles.

Louis opens her mouth as though to say something for a good thirty seconds, and Harry can’t read her expression for the life of her.

Louis’ words never do make it out, Harry scoots up and grabs both of Louis’ hands in her own, fingers slotting between each other, and kisses her, _really_ kisses her.

Where Louis’ kisses are fast-paced and all clear intent, to the point, Harry kisses like she’s got all the time in the world, but can’t be sure, because at the same she kisses like it might be her last chance. Where Louis is all tongue and hair tugging Harry is soft, full wide lips and small kitten nips.

Harry pulls back only when she’s starting to feel dizzy from lack of air, their short breaths loud in the otherwise quiet room. Louis’ eyes are glazed over, her hair is mussed up from where Harry’s tangled her hands in it and her lips are bitten bright cherry red and swollen. Harry feels proud, knowing that it’s her who does this, who gets to see Louis wrecked like this, _wreck her like this_ , and no one else. It kind of fills her up for a moment, a swirl of feral pride and hunger for more.

Harry giggles, for no reason at all, and Louis looks at her questioningly, a small smile makes its way to Louis’ lips. Harry shakes her head, grabs one of Louis’ hands and with a sharp tug, brings her toppling down on of her. Her hands flit down Louis back, down to her arse and she squeezes each cheek lightly. She laughs again.

“ _Spit it out_ ,” Louis laughs into her shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

Harry shakes her head, and looks at Louis, laughter in her eyes. “I was just thinking. You look great in a strap-on, Lou. One could even say you look particularly _strap_ ping.” Harry bursts into giggles at her own jokes, while Louis looks on her, obviously biting the inside of her cheek.

“That doesn’t even make any _sense_ , Haz.”

“Sod off, it was _funny_.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

And so Louis does, again and again till they’re dizzy with it, and then all over Harry’s stomach, ribs, love-handles, littering her with lovebites, and she comes up to give little kitten licks to her nipples.

When Harry’s hips start rocking up, Louis pulls up from Harry’s lips, straddling her thighs and reaches over for something on the bedside table. She pushes it into Harry’s hand, the small tube of lube and tells her to hold on to it. Louis climbs off Harry’s legs, kneeling in between them and nudging Harry’s feet further apart with her hands.

Harry’s eyes flutter closed and she pushes her hips up off the bed when Louis’ fingers pull on her panties. She feels Louis’ hand push her up by the hips, and slide a pillow under her.

“Good girl,” Louis murmurs and throws the panties beside her. “Thank you.”

Harry’s response is a moan and another small roll of her hips. Louis smiles at her softly, and kisses the inside of her knee.

Louis grabs each of Harry’s knees in her hands and leans down between Harry’s legs. She’s barely just started fucking into her with her tongue when Harry’s hand holds tightly onto Louis’ hair.

“ _Stop_ ,” Harry pants, and Louis does immediately. “Fuck- Lou. Fingers, your fingers or I’m gonna fucking come already.”

“Lube,” Louis says, and Harry takes a moment to process what she’s talking about. They don’t usually use it on their fingers because they’re always already so wet, and just one or two fingers doesn’t really call for it. It doesn’t feel very different though, when Louis slips one finger inside of her easily to the knuckle, her thumb brushing over her clit teasingly. Harry’s head rolls back and her hips buck up against one of Louis’ hands, thighs restrained where Louis is sitting on her.

Right as Harry is about to ask, Louis slides another finger next to the first, and it’s barely a stretch at all. “You’re doing so good, babe. So pretty like this, Haz.” Harry’s thoughts aren’t exactly in any sort of array, and all she can do is bite her lips and try to stifle her moans when Louis two fingers starts scissoring inside her and she feels the tip of another finger pressing next to them.

Slowly, Louis pushes in a third finger, all while keeping up a constant stream of compliments full of awe. Harry doesn’t really register much of what Louis is saying, she’s got no idea what the hell is coming out of her own mouth because it’s just so much all at once and-

“ _Now_ , Louis. Lou. Lou. Lou, _please_ , now I-” Harry’s vaguely aware that she doesn’t make any real sense, but it’s still a small shock when Louis’ fingers still, gradually sliding out with an obscene sound. Harry’s eyes are closed and she has one hand on her chest, fingers lazily playing with her own hardened nipple and she hears Louis squeezing out more lube.

“Watch, babe. Open your eyes, c’mon,” Louis says. “Want you to see.”

Harry leans her neck up and sees Louis holding the dildo between her legs with one hand, the other pinning Harry’s hip down.

“Ready?”

Harry nods frantically. Louis rubs the tip of the dildo slowly over her, round her clit, over the soft, wet skin and finally comes to a stop right at her opening. Harry bites back a whimper.

“Tell me if it hurts too much, Harry. Alright?” Louis waits till Harry voices her okay and she slowly, slowly, torturously slowly pushes into her, hips rocking a little more with every small inch deeper.  “Doing so good for me, babe, doing so well. Relax, Haz,” Louis presses kisses into Harry’s cheeks, over her eyelids, on her forehead. “So fucking good for me, sweetheart. I love you so much.”

With no warning other than a tightening grip on Harry’s hip, Louis pushes in all at once the last two or three inches slide into her and Harry gives out a sharp cry. It feels so full and Harry feels out of her depth .he barely registers anything other than the feeling of the cock inside her, Louis’ voice saying _something_ , and all she can do is repeat Louis’ name, again and again, her knees falling open of their own accord, almost hitting the bed on either side. Harry can feel Louis’ thighs shaking from the strain as she keeps pulling back and sliding back into her, and after a few thrusts, Harry’s hips rock up in sync with Louis’ meeting in the middle sort of jarringly and the stretch kind of _hurts_ but it feels so good and Harry’s sort of reveling in it. Harry feels the heat building up in her stomach, spreading out and heightening quickly and so close it’s painful, but it feels _so good_.

“Lou. Lou. Lou- I.”

Harry comes the second Louis reaches down a hand, thumb smearing through the wetness, and flicks roughly at her clit.

She doesn’t actually remember much after that. She does remember, though, Louis reaching a hand between her own thighs, and coming again with a soft moan, biting into Harry’s shoulder. She remembers whispering into the empty air in front of her while Louis wipes the insides of her thighs with a soft rag, “Love you Lou, thank you. Perfect, thank you. Love you. Louis. Lou.”

All she can hear is Louis’ breathing and it’s comforting. She tries to match it with her own as she slips into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

\---

(The morning finds Louis all extra lovely and touchy with soft eyes and small no-reason-kisses. Harry wakes up panicked about not even sparing a thought to text her mum or sister or stepdad, only to be consoled- and thoroughly kissed - by Louis, who, of course, had already talked to Anne.

Harry’s in for a of a roller coaster of emotions that morning, it seems, when Louis pulls out a small rounded-corners cubed box from her clutch and Harry can’t breathe a little but at the same time she feels light headed like she’s breathing too much.

(“It’s not like _that_ , I mean. Not _yet_ , of course. But, I just wanna. This is like a promise a bit, see. We’re going to go places and meet people and just fucking _live_. And I want you there, I want to, like, share all that with you. I sort of love waking up in the morning next to you, and falling asleep next to you, and annoying you when I use your toothbrush, and when you make me turn the lights off only after you’re already in bed because you’re still a little afraid of the dark, and when you make me breakfast or tea, or tell a ridiculous joke, or when you braid my hair or polish my nails all messy or call me at three in the morning to tell me how fast a hummingbird’s heart can beat. Or when you do nothing at all, when you smile- and just, _fuck,_ Haz, just when you’re _breathing_. I just really love it all and - and I love _you,_ ” between sloppy kisses and small whispers and stumbling out the hotel, Harry feels the ring on a chain against her chest with a heavy weight and she realizes loving Louis and being in love with Louis is more overwhelming than she’s ever imagined. It’s lovely.)

It's only some hours till Harry sees Louis next, and it hasn't been that fucking long honestly, but. It still feels like she's coming home.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you, Marc, for absolutely no inspiration. But for good talks in the newsroom and frozen pizza coupons. You're good like that.  
> and, as always, thank you, S.
> 
> and you, reader, if you've made it this far. thanks.


End file.
